


teenage wasteland

by mjolnirbreaker



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove Is Irredeemable, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, post season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 08:32:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjolnirbreaker/pseuds/mjolnirbreaker
Summary: Post-season two finale. Max feels guilty about everything her brother has done. Steve sets things straight.





	teenage wasteland

The truth is Max has never been that good at making friends. 

Even when she wasn’t the new kid. Even when she’d lived in San Bernardino from birth until sixth grade. There were always people she knew in class, people she smiled at in the hallway, people who didn’t shove her into lockers or steal her lunch money or anything cliche like that. It wasn’t a tortured existence of loneliness like the school counselor basically suggested. It was just her life, and she’d liked it. 

This Halloween Max realized that there’s a reason people have friends. Dustin laughs at her jokes a little too much but it’s nice. Lucas looks back at her over his shoulder while they’re walking up and down the streets that give out full-sized Hershey bars and smiles a little, which makes Max realize why some people have people that are _more_ than friends. If anything she feels all of this even more now that the monsters have shown up. 

It’s tragic because she was just starting to get comfortable. Despite all her barbs and spikes, Dustin and Lucas were determined to be friends with her. Even Mike was just starting to actually _listen_ when she spoke, starting to see her without daggers in every look. 

Billy ruins everything. He always has. 

She hasn’t told any jokes tonight. It isn’t really the time. But if she had, she’s pretty sure Dustin wouldn’t be laughing. Lucas is avoiding eye contact, and though he grabbed her hand for a second in the kitchen he also let go immediately after and wandered to the living room. Mike hasn’t taken his eyes off the magical girl, but if he did to look at Max she’s certain the daggers would be back and sharper than ever. 

For some reason the girl hurt most of all. She doesn’t know Eleven and she doesn’t understand how she became the way she is. All she knows is that Eleven is the hero of both last year and this year, and for some reason she hates Max. She can’t even blame Billy for that. 

“I think you should stay here tonight.” Ms. Byers tells her with a hazy knowledge of who Billy is and what happened and why Max can’t go home tonight. “You can call your parents or—“

“No it’s okay.” She knows calling would only complicate things. The past two times she’s stayed out all night have only ended in an hour or so of yelling, so it’s worth the gamble. “Um, thank you.” 

Ms. Byers runs her hand down Max’s hair, which she doesn’t hate for some reason. It’s sort of nice, especially because she doesn’t deserve it and she’s getting it anyways. 

After twenty minutes of sitting on an uncomfortable kitchen chair and watching people she doesn’t know vary between crying and hugging and laughing and, mostly at this point, sleeping, she gets up. She fills a plastic cup with a Pac-Man ghost printed on the side with water from the sink. She stands outside a shut bedroom door for five minutes with the cup in her hands before she finally knocks. 

Then she realizes that knocking was stupid, and she just opens the door. 

He’s just laying there. It could maybe just look like he’s sleeping if it weren’t for the swollen eye and dark purple-yellow vortex on his cheek and visible indent on his bottom lip. But he _is_ just sleeping, Max reminds herself. It’s not like he’s dead or anything. 

She stands there for a few minutes and just looks. He’s been laid on top of the covers (this is Will’s brother’s room and there had been much debate about this placement) with a wall of pillows wedged against his back to force him to stay laying on his side. Everyone else has showered and changed into clean clothes but he remains in the same bloody, dust-coated jacket and jeans as before. The bandana from the tunnels is still around his neck. 

The worst thing is his breathing. It sounds all raspy and uneven and it’s coming from his mouth instead of his nose because his nose is broken. The police chief said that broken ribs are probably the reason for that. She thinks that’s probably technically right, but she knows that the real reason is her. 

Max sets the cup down on the nightstand only to find three other cups (one of which has a corresponding Pac-Man) also filled to the brim with water. She figures it’s a pretty high spill risk and starts to scoot things over so the newest cup isn’t so close to the edge. 

“Steve Julian Harrington.” He says suddenly, voice so butchered she almost misses each word completely. “November 1984. Reagan. Hawkins.” 

“What?” 

His eyes open just barely and he regards her through the narrow slit between his lashes. After a beat he says, “Max?”

“Yeah.” 

“Thought you were Hopper.” He mumbles, closing his eyes again. His shifts uselessly for a second before settling back into the exact same position as before. “I have t’ answer the concussion quest’ns.” 

“Your middle name is Julian?” 

“Mhm.” 

“That’s a nice middle name.” 

“‘S a rich kid middle name.” 

Max laughs, which seems to please him a little bit. He had lines of tension between his eyebrows before, and now they’ve seemed to smooth out. His eyes open again and Max watches as he struggles to get upright. He maneuvers himself into a semi-sitting position with his shoulders leaning against the headboard. Both hands brush over his ribs and Max feels the millionth pang of guilt of the night. 

“You didn’t have to wake up.” She tells him. “Hopper said he needs like another twenty minutes before he takes you to the hospital.” 

“Might as well.” He shrugs. 

His voice is a little clearer than before, which Max takes as a good sign. He’s much more coherent now than he was a half hour ago when he’d subtly sunk to his knees in the living room and alerted everyone that his brain might not be completely solid. Hopper had asked Steve if he knew where he was, to which Steve had thoughtfully replied, “Monster killing house.” That’s when Hopper felt it was necessary to do some sort of examination, which led to the deduction that Steve was fine to sleep until they could take him to the hospital. Everyone seemed a bit more preoccupied with Will and Eleven.

Steve has his eyes closed again. Max thinks he might have fallen asleep until he reaches out and clumsily pats her on the shoulder. 

“You did a good job.” He tells her, which makes her eyes burn so fast it’s almost pathetic. “I know it’s weird. Being the only one who doesn’t know about monsters. You handled it better than I did.” 

“I almost crashed your car.” 

“I’m not going to comment on the car hijacking.” He must hear how wobbly her voice just sounded because he opens his eyes and appears to be scrutinizing her expression. “What’s wrong?” 

“You almost died because of me.” He immediately shake his head and Max presses on before he can try to deny it. “Billy could’ve killed you. And he didn’t but you’re still—“

“That was Billy. Not you.” 

“But he came here because of _me._ He told me that I should stay away from Lucas and I knew what might happen if he caught me around him again but I just—I put everyone in danger.”

“So you’re supposed to just not have any friends or go anywhere because Billy is a psychopath?” Steve sounds genuinely angry. Not an anger directed at her, but at the very thought of her living the way she’s been living since her mother married Neil and Billy stomped into her life. 

When her mother first started seeing Neil, it was pretty clear things were serious. Not a love sort of serious where they fell in love and wanted to be together, but more of a desperate sort of serious where Mom needed stability for herself and her daughter and Neil needed a trophy wife, even if she was made of silver rather than gold. Max expected them to get married. She paid attention when Mom talked about him, diligently took mental notes so she would know what to expect post-wedding. 

Gaining a sibling was never something Max considered when pondering her mother getting remarried. It just never occurred to her. And then she was excited at the prospect of an older brother because someone to hang out with and bond with and share inside jokes with would be pretty cool, actually. 

She’d never felt more cheated than when she met Billy.

“Max.” Steve puts his hand back on her shoulder and this time adds actual grip. “My father drinks when the stock market dips. If he came through the door right now and started yelling about idiots in corporate, would you blame me for not locking up the liquor cabinet?” 

“No.”

“No. And I don’t blame Nancy for her brother giving me attitude every twenty seconds, either.” He gestures to his face. She can see that he means all this. There’s determination in his eyes, clouded slightly by blown pupils and heavy purple lids but there nevertheless. “You aren’t your brother. He chose to do this, you didn’t. And you _stopped_ him. I couldn’t even do that!” 

“He didn’t fight fair.” She points out. 

“No he did not.” Steve agrees, absently brushing against the back of his head with the hand not still resting on her shoulder. “But you're not the one who smashed a plate against my head, alright? You don’t have to spend your whole life apologizing for something you aren’t doing. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness.” 

It’s a relief. Even if everyone else stays mad and Lucas never looks at her again, at least she has this. She doesn’t expect Steve Harrington to be her new brother or ever even talk to her beyond this conversation. And that’s okay. She’s glad she has this, at least. Proof that Billy can’t destroy everything good. 

“Thanks.” 

The hand on her shoulder moves to her head and ruffles her hair around so thoroughly that she has to push it from her eyes. “No problem, Speed Racer.” 

She decides to stay in here until Hopper is ready to take Steve. It’s infinitely better than the living room where everyone fits together into a nice, neat puzzle and she’s like, an extra piece put in the box on accident. She climbs onto the foot of the bed and Steve pulls himself up a little more to allow room for her, which has to hurt. Jonathan’s room is decorated sparsely and she’s in the process of trying to find something to talk about when Steve takes care of it instead. 

“Don’t feel like you have to stay in here if you don’t want to.” He says. “I mean, it’s nice having company while my ribs collapse but you can go be with your friends.” 

“It’s okay.” She tries to shrug it off. “I think they need a little space, anyways. After everything.” 

He frowns. “What do you—?” 

“Harrington.” The door opens and they both snap to attention when Hopper walks in. Max isn’t sure who Hopper really is in relation to everyone else. Eleven’s dad maybe? All she knows is that he’s the chief of police and he has a voice to match, loud and booming and authoritative but right now it’s lowered for Steve’s sake. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” 

“You sound better.” Hopper approaches the bed and gives Max a cursory glance before beckoning her over with a flap of his hand. “C’mere, kid.”

She slides off the bed and stands beside Steve, who promptly sticks his tongue out at her. She returns the favor while Hopper reaches over and gets his hand on Steve’s shoulder to help him sit upright. It takes a minute of Steve moving, pausing, occasionally making quiet noises in the back of his throat before he’s fully standing and leaning against Hopper. Max assists in walking beside him just in case, which is useful when he immediately stumbles and steadies himself by grabbing onto her shoulder. 

“Jesus.” Hopper mutters. “Go through the questions again.” 

“November 1984. Hawkins. Reagan.” 

“What’s your full name?” 

“I can’t say it. Max is going to make fun of my middle name.” 

“You were the one who said it was a rich kid name! I lied and said it was nice!”

“See?” Steve shoots her a grin while Hopper ignores them both and continues dragging Steve out to the living room. The moment they cross from the linoleum of the kitchen to the carpet of the living room, Steve is bombarded by Dustin, Lucas, and Mike’s sister who Max was never formally introduced to. Mike even gets up, but he doesn’t get more than two feet from the couch he’s sharing with Will and Eleven. 

Steve momentarily risks letting go of Max to flick both Dustin and Lucas on the forehead. He shares a look with Mike’s sister that Max can’t decipher. Then his hand goes back to Max and she feels a stupid sense of pride that _she’s_ the one he’s balancing on. 

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” Dustin asks, then without waiting for an answer announces, “We’re going.” 

“Harrington is laying down in the back.” Hopper says. “One person is riding shotgun. Everyone else stays here.” 

Lucas nods in acceptance, but both Mike’s sister and Dustin firmly stand their ground. Max isn’t sure either of them are willing to relent to the other, especially Dustin, but Steve interjects before any fighting can begin. 

“Max.” He tells them. “No offence, guys. Max has been helping me out. I’d be worse off if it wasn’t for her.” 

She knows what he’s doing. He might genuinely mean it, but also he knows that an endorsement from Steve Harrington is enough to erase all tension. Even though Dustin looks at her with thinly veiled jealousy, he also smiles at her. So does Lucas. Mike pointedly doesn’t glare at her. 

Steve squeezes her shoulder. She thinks if monsters can’t ruin this random assortment of people and the loyalty they all seem to have to each other, maybe Billy can’t either. 

And maybe she’s one of the people now.

**Author's Note:**

> jeez i hate billy
> 
> this was read and edited by my queen and kindred spirit em!!! thank u em!!!!!
> 
> im on tumblr!! if u want to talk or leave a prompt hmu @bi-thor


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